The Knocks at 2:17 A.M.

I used to hear it every night at exactly 2:17 a.m. Three slow knocks. Not on my front

door. On my bedroom door. The first time it happened, I thought I was

dreaming. I live alone in a small house at the edge of town—no roommates,

no pets, no neighbors for half a mile. When I jolted awake, heart hammering,

the hallway outside my bedroom was empty. I told myself the sound came from inside the walls.

Old houses make noises. Pipes knock. Wood settles. Still… pipes don’t

knock in rhythms. The second night, the knocks came again. 2:17 a.m. Three

slow, deliberate taps. This time I didn’t open the door. I sat up in bed,